


The Little Lines that Write on your Face

by cmorgana



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: M/M, Season 3, spoilers up to 3x03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-04 17:58:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6668647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cmorgana/pseuds/cmorgana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I know"</p>
<p>(no summary, since it's a missing scene anything could be spoiler. Just...what happens after that battle)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Little Lines that Write on your Face

**Author's Note:**

  * For [livia_bj](https://archiveofourown.org/users/livia_bj/gifts).



> One day I'll probably grow tired of writing this, but that's not the day. So, once more, you're stuck with this note saying no, english still isn't - nor it could ever be - my first language and I actually self taught it to myself, so there'll probably be mistakes and I probably messed up some verbs (they say italian it's hard, I can guarantee english is not easier!) plus there may be typos, I'm sorry about all that, I'm doing my best.
> 
> Well, @livia_bj, we talked about it so much I had to write this for you, I hope you enjoy 
> 
> oh, and if you're wondering I'm on tumblr: http://cmorgana.tumblr.com/

The air was heavy with the smell of gunpowder, blood and sweat. The sour odor of battle that seems to fill every pore of your skin, that stick to your lungs. 

Aramis took a long, deep breath, he inhaled it. That was it, that was what he was made for. War. Battle. Blood. He never was one for saving souls, now he knew, not even his own, he was made to send them to Hell. He wasn't an assassin, he didn't exactly rejoice in the feeling of taking a life, but he was a soldier, every fiber of his body and his soul were those of a warrior and it had taken him too long to realize. 

Another breath, his nostrils burning from the strong gunpowder, from the smoke still lingering. He was still getting reacquainted with that all, he was still riding on the high of it. Of being back, of holding a sword. He was relearning the weight of a pistol in his hand. Excited like he had been a long time before, when he had decided to enlist. But most of all he was finally getting used to be with his family again. It wasn't easy, he had missed so much, the four hardest years of their life, years he still only knew snippets of, but now that he was back he wondered how he made it, how he lived for so long without them. Without Porthos. So furious with him...and still Aramis had no right to blame him, not after all the pain he inflicted on his best friend leaving like he did, turning his back on him with barely an explanation, one that didn't even made complete sense to himself.

Porthos had hated him for so long that Aramis was sure he didn't have any chance to get him back. At least until some moments before. "I know". Two simple words that meant his absolution, that meant Porthos was probably still hurt and angry but he still considered him as a brother, as a companion, maybe as the something more they were before Aramis left like he did. 

Aramis saw the man enter the ruins of the building behind them, alone, everyone else busy with either crying for the fallen or helping the wounded, but his eyes were glued to Porthos, his vow to help people already forgotten. He wasn't a monk anymore, he was a man who had messed up his own life and now he needed to put it back together. 

He followed Porthos into the unstable edifice, hoping it wasn't going to collapse on them, and found him sitting on some empty barrels, face dirty, hands bloody. 

"It wasn't like war. God, nothing will ever be like war. Still I was pretty sure we weren't going to make it. Killed by a Red Guard, stupid way to go" the man murmured without looking up, recognizing Aramis just from the footsteps. Aramis took a few more, stopping in front of Porthos. 

"I was sure, instead, that the four of us were going to make it. Together." He tried, but Porthos looked up, expression impossible to read. 

"It's a little bit late for that, don't you think?" He said with a little more malice than he intended, but a second later he softened " I don't know if it was good to have you back or if it made me more vulnerable " 

"I had your back, Porthos, I was there to protect you, with my life, I always had" 

"And that's what made me vulnerable. I knew that, I knew I could be irresponsible or stupid and that you'd have been there to save me", he got up, took the last few steps separating him from Aramis and the man gulped. He was so close he could feel his breath, his smell, so unique even with the scent of battle covering it. But that wasn't the moment to think about that, maybe that moment wasn't going to ever come again, "and suddenly you weren't there anymore", Porthos continued, effectively dragging Aramis on the right track of thoughts once more, "no one was there when I was scared, you weren't there when I was too hurt to defend Athos or to pick up d'Artagnan with a bullet in his leg", Porthos recounted, but in his voice there wasn't the rage Aramis had learned to know in that past days, just sadness, regret. Fear. 

"I'm sorry", Aramis winched at his own words. How could he say sorry to someone who's telling him he spent four years out of a nightmare because of him? How could he be just "sorry" for leaving behind the man who loved him with all his heart and that he loved back? He looked down, at the debris covered floor, then closed his eyes, the pieces reminding him too much of a bad metaphor of what was between the two of them. 

"And still you know what the worst part was?" Porthos went on, ignoring the stupid apology or how the other was avoiding his gaze, "it was the moment I realized I could do without you, the moment you became only…something of the past", Aramis looked back up to the face so close to him. That was it, that was what his vow, his confusion, his fear led to. He left and so was left behind. There was no time for ghosts in war. There was no time to miss someone who wasn't coming back, not while there was to mourn the death of so many musketeers. That was the reality of things, the one Aramis always forced himself to ignore. 

He tightened his fists, suddenly thinking that going in there hadn't been such a good idea, then he slowly nodded and Porthos' hand flinched, as if it wanted to move of its own accord, to go up and touch him. 

"I'm back now", Aramis murmured in a breath, knowing they were so close the other man was going to hear it anyway, whispering it like a prayer, like another apology and Porthos shook his head with something akin resignation but with a certain softness to it. 

"I guess you missed the action too much, holed up with a bunch of kids", and yes, Aramis did, just the idea sent a thrill run down his spine, the memories of some minutes before, of battle and swords and the closeness he felt every time fighting back to back with his brothers. And that was it. Seeing them that day, at the monastery, had stirred in him something much deeper than the need for battle, than his being a soldier. He had seen them, tired and battered, covered in dirt and blood and suddenly a sense of belonging had washed over him like a warm tide, rising and rising, until it had engulfed him whole. 

He wasn't born to be a soldier, he was born to be a musketeer, to be family to the three of them. That had been God's plan all the time, he was just too stupid to understand. 

Aramis opened his dry lips to explain to the waiting man in front of him, he tried to find the rights words that could enlighten four years of his life, that could make him understand all he was feeling but that at the same time could turn those four years into an egoistic play. He tried hard, but suddenly all he could focus on was the adrenaline still running in his veins, the novelty of being back there and, most of all, Porthos so close to him, his face open and expectant, like he knew, he hoped, that Aramis was going to say something important, something that could make things right again.

But then not even that mattered, because now all Aramis could see was Porthos, his Porthos, so different from four years before and yet still the same. Maybe not even longer "his" Porthos but in that second it was just a minor detail, something Aramis didn't care about. 

He throw himself at Porthos in an off centered kiss, heart thumping too loud, too fast, in his chest with the ecstasy of finally being kissing the man again and the fear of being rejected. He grabbed Porthos shoulders, ignoring for a moment any possible reaction, just kissing him, the desperate slide of hungry lips, that had fasted for four years from the only thing they needed. 

As abruptly as Aramis has started the kiss, Porthos grabbed him by the hair, the other hand solid on Aramis' waist, tight, the only anchor point to reality while he kept the other pressed against his own lips, while he kissed back with all he had, his mind blank but for the need to feel Aramis once more. 

Aramis fingers, tight around the leather of Porthos' jacket, were now the only thing keeping his quivering knees from giving out. He moaned into the kiss, something primal, desperate, needy, and Porthos replied by biting on his lip, forcing it open to finally take his mouth and all Aramis could focus on was the sense of peace, safety, of being in Porthos' arms, of the light stinging in his scalp, of the hand grasping his waist. It didn't matter that maybe it was just a last kiss, or that it was dictated by adrenaline, fear, desperation, only the tongue in his mouth had importance, only the feeling of fully belonging. 

Aramis kissed back with all he had, like he needed it to breath, to survive. He licked at Porthos mouth, drinking on the taste of the metal from the ammunitions he held between his teeth, the faint blood of where he bit his cheek at some point, just to get under them, just to taste Porthos, to refuel memories of what now felt like a century ago and, at the same time, just a moment before. And then he just let himself get lost, pliant in the arms of the bigger man, in that kiss that lasted forever, the fingers massaging his scalp, the solid body now pressing him against the barrels. 

Some part of his mind, a tiny, still working one, expected Porthos to end the kiss abruptly, to realize what he was doing and to push him aside, horrified by being so horny to kiss someone he was so angry with. That same part of his mind begged him not to let the other do it, not to end that kiss just to be pushed back, just to realize it was nothing more than an impulsive goodbye for good. 

Porthos could immediately sense his dread in the way he got rigid, tense, the kiss rapidly switching to seducing instead than spontaneous and ravenous, and just like that he knew why Aramis was panicking, suddenly it was like no time had passed between them and he was back to read his lover like an open book. 

That was the clue to end the kiss. Even if they knew Athos and d'Artagnan were probably out of the door, keeping others away, they were in a public place and the thing was getting dangerously intimate on too many levels. Whatever it could have led to wasn't made for a place like that. 

Gently Porthos pulled back, but rested their foreheads against each other for a moment before he brushed his mouth against Aramis' one last time. He took a step back. 

Aramis looked at him, breath quick, short, greedy gasps to get more air, heart still thumping against his ribcage, echoing in his ears. Maybe that was the moment to tell all the things he realized, to beg for forgiveness, now that the most physical part was over. 

"I…" he tried, but all his beautiful words were gone, the nice ones for so long he used to seduce men and women alike, to charm anyone around him, to get whatever he wanted, unexpectedly ditched him, leaving him at a loss. He couldn't explain to Porthos. He couldn't tell him why his heart was so fast, his hands so sweaty, he didn't have the terms for that. He bit on his own lip, still sensitive from the kiss, desperately staring at Porthos looking back at him, expectant, "I'm back now, I have your back", he repeated what he said just a few minutes before, "I won't leave you again" he added, praying that the man was going to believe him but full knowing he had no way to guarantee it nor the right to ask.  
"I know", Porthos nodded, careful, and turned away, the familiar shadow of Athos reflecting in the slice of light entering through the door, "I just need time to convince myself I'm not going to get hurt again, not like that."

It was said in a soft voice, solemn, slightly broken, and Aramis felt his stomach twist, a wave of nausea at the reminder of the pain he caused. He hadn't thought about that when he had ran away. About Porthos. His Porthos. He didn't deserve even that last chance, and yet he wanted it like he had never wanted anything before, he wasn't sure he could survive without it. 

He watched Porthos walk away, his shadow merge with Athos', but before he could leave he stopped him once more. 

"Does it mean I could be forgiven?" he asked in a careful, small, voice, scared of the possible answer. Porthos snorted a laugh and turned around, shaking his head. 

"You were never found guilty in the first place, you only showed me some part of myself I didn't know, a scary and hurtful part", Porthos replied still shaking his head. 

Aramis frowned. Words had definitely abandoned him, because not even that made sense to his confused brain. What did it really mean? He was unsure of what to feel: relief or desperation. 

"is…is that a yes?" he asked again, frantic for an explanation, for a real absolution maybe. But Porthos just laughed softly, as if he was just talking to a child who didn't get something easy but bigger than him, and walked away. 

With a frown Aramis let himself fall against the barrel again, leaning over it while he swiped a hand over his own face, then brushing the hair out of his face. He was going to need a lot more action and battles to be able to cope with all that.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, there's gonna be a second part to this ;) I just liked this part as it is, so I cut it there and I'll add something later.


End file.
